


RE: INCARNA

by Parkourse



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21895591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parkourse/pseuds/Parkourse
Summary: "I mean, do you really think i'd have gotten out of this scot-free?"He's seen far too much, knows far too much, with far too little to show for what he's got."I...I'm just. Tired, I guess. Life does that to you. Especially when you've gone through as much life as I have."





	RE: INCARNA

_ “So, you’re awake.” A voice floated through the bright room. It didn’t sound like anyone he knew. At least, that’s what he thought… Where was this place anyway? And why was it so shiny and bright? _

_ “Where am I?” His voice was weird. He didn’t quite recall having a voice this...echoey. It was weird. Uncomfortable, even.  _ __  
_  
_ __ “Ah? You don’t remember? Hoh. Allow me to jog your memory then.” A figure came into view. It (he?) was wearing white robes, with a cloth-thing draped over his shoulders, tapering off into flat ends. A cross was sewn near each end; one red, one black, a stark contrast to his otherwise immaculately white appearance. He had a clean-shaven, handsome face, with deep black eyes and a gentle smile. 

_ The figure flexed his...figure, contorting his face into a grimace, before abruptly relaxing. At that moment, a pair of brilliantly white wings unfurled from his back. They were massive, easily twice the person’s outstretched arms, he thought. He could see each feather in intricate detail, down to the individual strands—soft, yet oddly sharp. All together they made for a dazzling view, only compounded by the otherworldly aura of their owner. _

_ It made him… annoyed. At the same time, however, he felt a massive sense of familiarity from the angel in front of him. _

_ Where the hell had he seen a face as annoying as that before? _

_...ah, right. His house. _

_ Memories came flooding back to him as he picked himself off the ground. He was Death, in charge of a handful of souls, their lives, and their inevitable demise. At least for one world—Earth, those souls called it. He liked to think of them as his children. He was good friends with most of the pantheon, sometimes popping over to assist them or even take over their jobs while they did whatever. After a few millenia he got annoyed so he decided to rope in one of those angels wandering about to help. Speaking of which... _

_ “Bah. Stupid handsome angel. What did you do this time, Raphael?” _

_ The angel chuckled. _

_ “Our first reunion in three hundred thousand years and you insult me to my face? I’m hurt, milord. Really, I am. After all the trouble I went to prepare for your return. I even went and wore my best clothes today, you know?” _

_ Death groaned exasperatedly. “Oi, oi, don’t you start. I didn’t ask for the full-course handsome buffet, I asked for someone to greet me when I came back.” He gestured wildly around him. “And what is this? Who made the receiving room so goddamn bright? Turn the light down, for god’s sake, I’m going blind.” _

_ Raphael frowned slightly at that. “Should you really be cursing yourself that much, milord? It is language unbecoming of a god.”  _

_ Death snorted. “It’s precisely because I’m a god that I can swear at myself all day long without fearing the big damn bolts of lightning Zeus and friends seem to love throwing down the moment they catch wind of someone talking smack about ‘em.” He twirled to the left, and a moment later, a column of electricity fell from the sky. “Yeah, yeah, I missed you too Zeus, we’ll get drunk later, now shoo, I have work.” Another bolt struck the floor, though nowhere near as close as the last one. “Oy! Odin! Don’t go throwing about your kid’s lightning bolts, he’ll claim copyrights!” Disembodied laughter floated all around him, echoing across the chamber, before vanishing with a light “pop!”. He snickered to himself.  _

_ “Damn those drunkards. Never lets me get an ounce of work done when they muck about my house. AND RAPHAEL, WHAT THE HELL DID I SAY ABOUT THE GODDAMN LIGHTS?!?”  _

_ “My apologies, milord. Please wait a moment,” Raphael answered back. _

_ Death grunted loudly as the ambient lighting in the room dimmed, revealing two chairs and a table. Raphael was already seated, idly thumbing through a book he always kept hidden in a secret breast pocket. Death took to sitting down on the other chair, taking a moment to adjust himself before he spoke.  _

_ “So. How are the kids?” _

_ Raphael peered over his book, an eyebrow arched in question. “I was not aware you fathered children with any of the female gods, milord. Might I ask who the lucky female is?” He ducked in time for a cup to sail harmlessly over his head, shattering on the floor behind him. He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “That cup took me years to bargain from Kagu-tsuchi-sama, milord.”  _

_ “Pah. It’ll only take either of us a few seconds to recreate it, anyhow, so I don’t see the problem.” To accentuate his point, Death materialized the same cup he had thrown at Raphael, before pouring himself a cup of tea. “Still, I would rather you did not invalidate years of work and hardship the next time you decide to assault me, milord.” Raphael’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “Now, to answer your question, they are progressing wonderfully. One of them has already made substantial progress in fusing scientific principles and magical laws together.” _

_ Death raised his eyebrows in interest. “Oh? Do tell.” _

_ Raphael gestured, and an image of a young man sprung up on the table between the two of them. He was wearing a white lab gown, with sleeves cut off at the shoulders exposing his bare arms. White pants reached just above his ankles, where gray socks disappeared inside black wingtip shoes. He looked to be no more than twenty years of age, with black hair and sharp eyes. A stern look graced his face, his mouth set in a seemingly permanent frown. _

_ Death fell over his seat. _

_ “Milord? Are you alright?” Raphael asked in concern.  _

_ From behind the upturned chair Death groaned out, “Raphael, take care of this place for me. I gotta get back to work.”  _

_ “So soon? It’s only been two centuries, milord.” Raphael stood up from his seat and helped his master back on his feet. “Are you sure you would not rather stay behind and talk about your children more?” Death shook his head. “If I don’t go now I’m pretty sure I won’t have any kids to talk about in the near future. Get the keys.”  _

_ Raphael’s eyes widened slightly. “You don’t mean…” _

_ Death snorted. “Yes, those keys.” He brought his arms up in a sweeping gesture, pointing to a small door. “Straight down the hall and two turns to the left. Quickly!” Raphael hurriedly bowed down. “As you wish, milord.” He disappeared in a flash. Death took the time to straighten his clothes out and summon his personal gate to his children’s realm. Raphael came back, holding a bright blue crystal underneath his arm. “Milord, is it not enough to send the reapers after that person? Why send...him?”  _

_ He was shaking, Death noted, if only slightly. Very slightly, but it was there. How cute, Death thought. “Raphael, listen closely. This man will bring about mass genocide. He will commit acts of evil so vile even the demons would hurl if they learned of them. If I leave him unchecked, he will flood the Underworld with souls clamoring for revenge. That will be a massive, massive pain in the ass for all of us involved.” _

_ “Priorities, milord. These are your children,” Raphael gently reminded him. _

_ “Right, right. I haven’t forgotten.” Death cleared his throat. “As a general rule, I can’t directly interfere with my world’s matters. So, instead of me doing the work, it’s him who does it instead. That’s why I call him in: for my kids.” _

_ Raphael pushed the crystal awkwardly into its slot. “But, is that man not one of your children as well, milord… ?”  _

_ The tables and chairs promptly exploded. Death glared back at his servant. Frost spread out around him, nipping at Raphael’s feet and covering the floor in ice.  _ **_“THaT maN cEASeD bEInG mY chILD tHE moMEnT thE fIrSt sEEd OF mAss gENoCIdE eNTEreD hIs fILthY bRAin.”_ **

_ Raphael stared back at his master. “Very well then. As you wish, milord.” He turned towards the crystal-fitted gate, now pulsing with magical energy. “******! We require your assistance!” _

_ A hunched-over, darkly-clad man stepped out of the portal. Save for the glowing eyes peeking out of his hood, one could see nothing of him or his face. He moved as if the world itself weighed on his shoulders, and spoke as if its inhabitants attempted to hold back his tongue.  _

_ This did nothing to temper his foul mouth and sharp wit.  _

_ “The fuck...do you...need me...for? Go be…a fucking dad...for...once...and save their asses...yourself. I’m...tired...of playing...hitman for hire...for all...the goddamn...gods.” _

_ Raphael bit back his tongue and reminded himself that this was simply the way that man acted—he had seen far too much with far too little power to keep his sanity in check. Honestly, it was a miracle his mind was still functional. “Milord requires your assistance. Simply put, he requires you to incarnate into this world in order to kill this man.”  _

_ He showed the figure the same picture floating on the table before it exploded. “Hrnh...so this...is the guy...that...made Death himself...fall...over...his fucking...chair… Hah.” He clapped his hands. Almost immediately, his body straightened up with an audible snap, as if he had just gotten rid of a weight around his neck.  _

_ “Death ain’t the only way to keep the balance in this fucking world.” His voice sounded about fifty years younger, Rapahel noted. The voice continued, “Besides, this is my turf. This just got personal. Baby Hitler’s coming in for a rude fucking awakening when I get there.”  _

_ Death smiled. “This is why I like you. That, and the fact that you’re the first one to be permanently separated from my family.” _

_ ****** grinned back. “Sucks to be me, then. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He stepped back into the gate. “I have a date with a murderer. Bye, fuckers!” With that, he disappeared into the gate.  _

_ Barely a few seconds passed before a massive explosion shook the room, sweeping Death and Raphael off their feet. _

_ “The hell happened?!” Death shouted. “Status!” As the master and his servant helped themselves up, reports flashed to life in front of them, showing the state of various matters Death concerned himself with, including vengeful souls, the state of his children, and how hungry Cerberus was. Death swept all of those aside and brought up ******’s status report on his screen.  _

_ Or at least, what was left of it. _

_ It was a pixel massacre. Most of the text was glitched out or unreadable, and the few sections that were even slightly understandable held random words that made no sense together. The interface was a mess, likely mirroring the state of its intended subject...but what would cause status corruption of this level? As Death and Raphael searched through all the chaos and gibberish on screen, they found four words clearly standing out. _

**_PROJECT INCARNA_ **

**_STATUS : ACTIVE_ **

_ The world went dark. _

Tanaka woke up.

“...What?”


End file.
